


Who Has Time?

by sasha_b



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: BrOT4, Comment Fic, Gen, Season/Series 01 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post season one, Athos decides what's important in the scheme of all things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Has Time?

**Author's Note:**

> For comment fic, _honor is the first thing to go._

Struggling is not what Athos likes to do. 

He's an expert swordsman, a decent shot, and knows enough hand to hand combat to get by without getting himself killed. So far. 

So when he's reduced to grubbing in the mud, his pistol and arquebus gone somewhere behind him, his hand scrabbling for the last piece of weaponry on him, he snarls and curses, the ugly words unfamiliar and strange tasting.

His thoughts are ugly, sometimes. Especially when he's in his cups and thoughts of _Anne, Milady, her_ are on him, even though he's thrown out her necklace and most of his memories of her and them. Nasty, dirty words have taken over his brain at those times, hatred, fear and most of all self-loathing still. But he doesn't defame his own honor or his brothers' honor by swearing aloud or lowering himself to the standards of base criminals. He's a musketeer. He won't do that. No matter the hell he's been through, no matter the mess he'd made of his life, no matter the trials he's slogged through and survived, no matter the damage to his ego and his heart -

Aramis screams his name and Athos rolls to his left, instinct taking over, and the blade aiming for his throat barely misses him, scraping his pauldron, slicing it, which doesn't matter as it already has so much damage done to it. He rolls, the mud squishing under him, his hair lank and matted with the rain that's sluicing down unchecked, and the man that's trying to kill him leans over him, knife at his neck, shoving, pushing, teeth bared -

He hears the others shouting for him and he knows they're coming but they may not get there in time and he thinks of the code of soldiers even as this miscreant is trying as hard as he can to gut Athos like a fish.

_There is no time_

Athos snags the secreted dagger he's been trying to reach and as the sky breaks with raucous thunder he slams it home, through the enemy's chest and angled up into his heart.

The man collapses on his him, and after a moment to catch his breath, Athos shoves at the corpse pinning him to the slimy ground even as Aramis is finally there, pulling as Athos pushes.

He sits and Aramis' face is pinched and bloody and concerned and Athos stands without assistance, eyes on his brothers first, assessing their good heath, and then for his weapons, which are laying on the ground under the edge of an overturned barrel of wine. He wets his lips and watches as the liquid puddles on the mud, wasted, dark red, bloody and grubby and he can't tear his eyes from it.

"-thos?"

He shakes his head and looks down at the dagger that has dispatched another dishonorable privateer; he assumes that, in any regard. Aramis hands him something and he looks down at his hand - his hat fills it, and Athos finds the corner of his mouth twitching as he claps it on his head, the feathers a bit bedraggled, but still.

Honor aside, he'll do what he must to save his own miserable life, if only to care for the lives of the others. And realizing that gives him pause, and eases his breath and heartbeat. 

The code be damned.

Aramis touches his face; Athos pulls away but feels the soreness in his cheek where one of the pirates must have punched him. He meets the other man's eyes and whatever it is between them passes back and forth as it always does - the rain slackens and he looks to the end of the grubby alley they'd been fighting in - Porthos grins through the grimy slop on his face, and d'Artagnan jerks his chin toward Aramis and him, eyes wide and mouth turned in a smile.

Athos walks with Aramis toward the other men.

He slips his dagger back in the sheath he'd pulled it from and for once, listens to the little voice in his head that's happy to have survived one more fight.


End file.
